


The Monsters Come Out at Night

by frapandfurious



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: AKA the most relevant tag for this fandom, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands, Immortality, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frapandfurious/pseuds/frapandfurious
Summary: Some nights the memory of a particular death, recent or ages ago, will haunt Nicolò’s dreams. That’s when he finds his head cradled against a warm chest, his cheeks stroked by calloused thumbs, a sleep-thick voice whispering tesoro, tesoro.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 164





	The Monsters Come Out at Night

**Author's Note:**

> WELP here I am. I watched this movie...5 days ago? And immediately started spitting out fic ideas.
> 
> I haven't written in about a year so I'm a little rusty, and this is my first work in this fandom so I'm still getting the hang of the world and the characters' voices and vibe. I wrote this twice - once in my head while driving, and again MUCH LESS ELOQUENTLY that same evening once I could get to a computer. =_=
> 
> That said, I hope you like it!
> 
> (Title loosely inspired by Monsters by All Time Low feat. blackbear)

It’s a type of mission they’ve done before and will undoubtedly do again: rescue victims of human trafficking, take out the captors,  _ don’t get caught _ . In and out in under an hour. No more than a death or two each, tops.

Joe and Nicky are at this one alone while Andy spends some time traveling with Nile, trying to teach her as much as she possibly can while she still can. There was an urgency to this decision that they’d never seen in Andy before. Going from a seemingly endless span of time stretched out before her to now working within the constraints of a mortal life was a jarring change, but one that left her with a renewed sense of purpose.

As for Joe and Nicky, after the ordeal with Merrick, they  _ intended _ to lie low for a few months, or years, or decades if they could get away with it. Take a vacation, visit some of their favorite places, enjoy each other…

They should have known better, really. Vacations never last long; not when there are people in need.

They’re in Lyon, because after being trapped in a lab and tested on like an animal, Nicky’s first thought when it was over was of a creperie they’d visited together years before.

Well...his second thought. His first was that of eternal gratitude - in the most literal sense - that his dear Yusuf had made it through this with him. Now more than ever he knows not to take that for granted.

“I could have gone years,  _ decades _ , without ever tasting crêpes suzette again, Joe,” he had mused as they lay together in the bed of a safe house far away from London. Ever obliging and ever fond of his lover’s sweet tooth, Joe immediately arranged passage to France, and Nicky got his crêpes suzette.

They managed to go two full weeks without incident. The blink of an eye for them, really. Then trouble found them once more.

\---

In the heat of battle, Joe never truly gets a chance to admire Nicky’s fierce beauty while he fights. The smooth grace of his movements, the focused calm of his sharp gaze, the strength with which he swings his sword, the accuracy of his shots. No, sadly, Joe is too busy fighting by his side and trying to put himself between Nicky and harm without him noticing.

Nicolò always notices.

And harm is seldom avoided in their line of work.

Joe has his back to Nicky, his gun trained on one open doorway as enemies stream through and he picks them off one by one. Behind him Nicky faces the other entrance, doing the same.

They freed the captives by sneaking them out the back through a loading dock to a rescue van arranged by Copley. Now they’re just...cleaning up, so to speak. Ensuring that the ones who did this cannot do it again. That those innocent people can live without fear.

There is almost silence as the last man through the doorway drops. Behind him Joe hears Nicky’s gun run out of ammo and clatter to the ground as he tosses it away. Then the silence is filled with the whistle of Nicky’s sword through the air and the  _ thwacks  _ and grunts as the blade meets its mark. Joe turns.

Nicky is turning, too, glancing over his shoulder to check on Joe when he realizes his partner has stopped shooting. In the brief moment his focus is pulled away, a man on the ground struggles to his knees, gun raised with a trembling hand.

Nicky doesn’t notice until the gun is pressed to his stomach, and then it’s too late.

_ BANG! _

The shot echoes through the room. It slams into Nicky at point blank, an explosion of blood and guts as Nicky is flung back, eyes wide in shock, mouth open in a soundless scream.

He’s dead before he hits the ground.

Blinding rage consumes Joe, just as it always does at the sight of his Nicolò being hurt. In any way, in any time,  _ every _ time, he hates it. Knowing Nicky will heal and wake does nothing to quell the scalding hatred he feels for anyone who dares harm him, because their intention is always to take him from Joe, and that simply cannot be.

No sooner has Nicky’s body hit the ground than his attacker is staring down the barrel of Joe’s own gun.

“You should not have done that,” are the last words the man hears before his brains paint the wall behind him.

\---

When Nicky wakes, after long moments of his abdomen knitting itself back together, it’s to Joe’s face, pure emotion taken human form. Joe’s eyes are dark pools of concern fixed on Nicky’s. His lips are parted mid-plea.  _ Destati, destati. Wake up, wake up _ .

Relief washes over him like a downpour, easing his features while he lets out a shuddering breath. His brow is still pinched. Nicky reaches up to smooth it with his thumb.

“You’ll get wrinkles,” he teases.

Joe huffs. “You know I can’t.”

“True. But if you could, I’d love each one.”

Joe’s eyes smile. “Now who is the romantic?”

“Still you,” Nicky says, laughing now. “Still you.”

\---

Though their bodies bear no scars, their suffering leaves a mark in its own way. In phantom pains, in unwelcome memories, in daydreams and nightmares.

Joe has often wondered aloud why this is. Why their skin and bones heal but their minds do not. Why physical agony fades but the mental, the emotional, lives on in them.

Nicolò believes that pain, fear, and grief are wounds to the soul, not the body, and that is why they linger. Joe doesn’t have a better answer, so he agrees.

\---

Some nights the memory of a particular death, recent or ages ago, will haunt Nicolò’s dreams. That’s when he finds his head cradled against a warm chest, his cheeks stroked by calloused thumbs, a sleep-thick voice whispering  _ tesoro, tesoro _ .

Nicky jolts awake with a gasp. His hands fly to his stomach, his body jerks backwards slightly and his eyes go wide as though he is living the violence all over again.

The chest, the hands, the voice, they’re all there, soothing his troubled mind as his ragged breaths even out.

“You’re safe, my love.” A kiss pressed to the top of his head. “It’s over. We’re safe.”

Finally Nicky shifts, adjusting his head so he can see Joe. It’s dark in their little room, but the lamps from the street outside reflect off of Joe’s deep, loving eyes and the beauty of them pulls Nicky at last from the depths of his nightmares.

“It’s over,” Joe assures him again. Nicky nods. His hands still clutch at his stomach.

Joe reaches down and eases his arms away so that he can see with his own eyes his lover’s skin, whole and unmarred. He knows it’s not so simple as ‘ _ it’s over’ _ . He says it anyway.

He traces his fingers over Nicky’s pale stomach and tries desperately to push away the memory of it torn open.

“I wish I could kill that man a second time,” Joe mutters. There’s a soft chuckle and when he looks at Nicky he finds upturned lips and fond, tired eyes gazing back at him.

“I wish I could have seen it happen the first time,” Nicky responds. “Tell me, how did you kill him?”

“I blew his fucking brains out.” Joe says it like a declaration of love, and it  _ is _ , and Nicky laughs again when Joe makes an exploding motion with his hands. He catches one hand and kisses the knuckle of his trigger finger.

“ _ Yusuf _ ,” he whispers. The name only he can say, just as only Yusuf calls him  _ Nicolò _ . On his lips the name becomes an endearment in and of itself. Over the years he has said it a thousand times in a thousand ways, the meanings always clear. They could craft a language from each other’s names and never need to speak another word again.

Nicky’s eyelids droop, soft lashes brushing the back of Joe’s hand. It is no small feat to pull his hand away, but he does so to retrieve the blanket that Nicky had kicked away in his fitful sleep and tuck it around them both.

“Sleep now, my love.”

His words go unheard. Nicolò is asleep and at peace, as it should be. Yusuf draws him in close and soon follows.

That day’s pain joins the innumerable others in recent and distant memory. Some will remain, some will fade away, new pains will join them. Again and again they will be torn apart, again and again they will mend.

And for the wounds that don’t heal, for the scars that do form, for that, they have each other, now and always.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](obsessions-and-dreams.tumblr.com/) here and there if you want to say hi~


End file.
